


that kind of love

by stammiviktor



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dom Katsuki Yuuri, Dom Victor Nikiforov, Feelings, Fluff, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Mild Angst, On Love Eros: the gift that keeps on giving, Post-Canon, Romance, Self-Discovery, Shibari, Smut, Sub Katsuki Yuuri, Sub Victor Nikiforov, Switching, YOI Shibari Zine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-21 10:50:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20692295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stammiviktor/pseuds/stammiviktor
Summary: And soEros for Twois born.





	that kind of love

**Author's Note:**

> yes it's a hozier lyric pls do @ me
> 
> written for Rope Burn - A YOI Shibari Zine!
> 
> thanks so much to [Rachel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chrome/pseuds/Chrome) and [Jenny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/victuurikatsu) for beta-ing!

To the delight of every ice show planning committee in the world, Viktor Nikiforov and Yuuri Katsuki, the Living Legend and Dark Horse of men’s singles figure skating respectively, skate best as a pair. Ultimately, despite Stars on Ice’s best efforts, Japan-based Fantasy on Ice wins the bid for Summer 2017, due not to the size of their offer but to their geographical proximity to the world’s best katsudon. The choreographers request their _Stammi Vicino Duetto_, but also something else—something new, something fresh, some never-before-seen Katsuki-Nikiforov content. 

The idea pops into Yuuri’s head unbidden, making his mouth water and his mind run away with the possibilities. Viktor’s eyes darken when Yuuri suggests it. 

And so _ Eros for Two _is born.

Their two-skater adaptation of _ On Love: Eros _leaves the original story intact except for the ending: instead of Yuuri pushing aside his lover, they fall to their knees tangled in one another for the final pose. 

After finishing the choreography, they commission a costume for Viktor to complement the one that he had passed on to Yuuri last year. 

“I wanted the original costume to look…” Viktor clears his throat. “Well.”

The designer quirks an eyebrow. Yuuri snickers. “Go on, tell him.”

Viktor laughs, no hint of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. “Bondage. It was supposed to look like bondage.”

They spend the month between Worlds and Fantasy on Ice in Hasetsu. There, Yuuri sees the stunning new costume stretched over Viktor’s chest for the first time, with a half-cape draped in red over his shoulder to complement Yuuri’s half-skirt. It is then that Yuuri truly starts to think.

“Did you ever try it?”

Viktor looks up from his book, dog ear-ing a page to mark his place. “Try what?”

A flock of seagulls soars above them and ocean waves lap against the shore. Yuuri catches Viktor’s gaze out of the corner of his eye.

“Bondage.”

Viktor frowns. “Are you forgetting that time in Barcelona? Or that time—”

“No!” Yuuri blushes just thinking about it, the night they found a use for that allegedly hideous tie that Viktor would approve of. “That doesn’t count, that was barely... I mean before. Before me. You were clearly interested in it, because you commissioned that costume, but…”

In the sand between them, Viktor entangles a couple of his fingers with Yuuri’s, spinning the gold ring around and around. “I thought about it a lot, but I was just a teenager. I thought it was… romantic, maybe. Trusting someone that much. Letting them take care of me. It was just a fantasy then.”

Yuuri raises an eyebrow. “You had partners, though. Back then.”

“No one like you.” Viktor leans in and presses a warm kiss to the underside of Yuuri’s jaw. “I trust you with everything, Yuuri.”

It’s not like either of them have ever been the missionary-with-the-lights-out type, but Yuuri wouldn’t classify anything they’ve done as the “bondage” of Viktor’s fantasies. At every ice show, Yuuri spends the long minutes waiting to skate studying Viktor’s costume: the criss-cross pattern of fabric against a chest hidden only by mesh, the way Viktor’s muscles ripple beneath the thin strips of black as if challenging them to contain him. Yuuri’s imagination runs wild, calling on the sidebar ads he’d seen on gaming forums as a teenager, featuring anime girls trussed up in intricate patterns of red rope.

Yes, as a longtime internet user and citizen of Japan, Yuuri knows enough about kinbaku. It is only before their show in Osaka, zipping up Viktor’s _Eros for Two_ costume and watching the array of black lines wrap around his back, that Yuuri realizes he wants to know much,_ much _more.

“What are you thinking about during your new pair skate?” one interviewer asks.

Viktor smirks.

“Borscht.”

Yuuri elbows him under the table.

Before they leave Osaka, Yuuri sneaks off on his own to a shop he found on the internet. A smiling woman recommends black hemp rope, explains how to care for the material, and points him to online resources to learn how to use it. 

Yuuri has spent his entire life lacing up figure skates and studying choreography from low-resolution recordings of Viktor Nikiforov’s programs. So when it comes to teaching himself rope bondage through online tutorials, he feels particularly well-equipped for the task. For the rest of the summer, he spends every moment he can get alone with his fingers tangled in rope. When he does this for his fiancé for the first time, he wants to be worthy of the trust he’s asking Viktor to place in his hands. 

…

The time arrives a few weeks before Skate America, when the St. Petersburg cold has begun to settle in and their training schedules have become so hectic that they haven’t done more than lazily jerk each other off in weeks. Yuuri goes behind Viktor’s back to request a rest day from Yakov and they spend a relaxing day together, sleeping until ten and catching up on TV shows they haven’t watched since August. 

That night, Yuuri leads Viktor to the bedroom, strips the clothes from his frame, and guides him down to his knees. 

“Yuuri,” Viktor whispers when his fiancé places the neatly-tied bundle of rope in his outstretched hands. He looks up at Yuuri from where he kneels at the foot of their bed, eyes shining in wonderment.

“I wanted to surprise you.” Yuuri kneels in front of Viktor to put them at the same level. “Did it work?”

_ “Yuuri,” _Viktor breathes, running his index finger over the loops of black rope. Yuuri hums. 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” 

Whatever Viktor expected Yuuri to do for him tonight, Yuuri knows it wasn’t this. He reaches out, trailing his thumb over Viktor’s brow and curving down to trace his cheekbone. 

“I’ve been practicing. I know enough of the basics now to try it out on you, if you’re willing.”

Something about that makes Viktor laugh, the sound coming from deep within his throat. He chases Yuuri’s palm with his lips and plants a kiss there, breathing in deeply. “Yes. Please. Yes.”

Viktor’s pleas flip a switch somewhere deep within Yuuri, the same switch that had him grabbing Viktor’s tie over the sideboards or licking his lips at the start of his short program. He gives Viktor’s cheek a light pat, stands, and takes the rope that Viktor offers back to him. 

“I’m going to check in more than normal. You need to tell me if anything is pinching or going numb, or if it’s just too much. I have a pair of shears here, just in case. Alright?”

Viktor’s eyes shine warmly in the lamplight, not a hint of fear or reservation to be found. “Yes,” he breathes, his eyelids sliding closed as Yuuri circles around behind him. Naked only above the waist, Yuuri feels his pants begin to tighten.

“Good. I am going to bind your arms first. Put them behind your back for me, Vitya?”

Viktor is all too eager to comply, which sends Yuuri’s heart racing before he even ties the first knot. He steadies his breathing, loops the rope around the very top of Viktor’s chest to make a harness, and revels in the shudder that overtakes Viktor’s frame.

Still, that is nothing compared to the delighted gasp Yuuri tears from Viktor’s throat when he threads the rope around Viktor’s biceps and _ pulls, _wrenching his shoulder blades back toward one another. Yuuri’s steadying hand at the base of Viktor’s neck is the only thing that keeps him upright. 

“Is this okay?” 

Viktor pants, “Yes.”

Yuuri squats behind him and weaves the rope over and under Viktor’s arms, working slowly down to just above his wrists and keeping the bindings pulled tight as he goes. Viktor’s fingers, slightly redder than usual, curl and straighten over and over again like he’s grasping for something he’s not allowed to reach. When Viktor’s arms are completely bound, Yuuri brings the rope back up to the harness at the top, loops it through, and gives one last firm yank before tying it off, jerking Viktor’s elbows even closer together. Yuuri stands, marveling at his fiancé’s flexibility as Viktor sways on his knees.

“Oh god,” he moans, his head tilting backward far enough that Yuuri can see his lips pursed in an astonished little ‘o’.

“Vitya, how do you feel?”

Viktor says something that might be Russian, might be near-delirious nonsense. They’ve only just begun—this won’t do at all. Yuuri strokes down the side of his neck.

“What was that?”

“Good, Yuuri, _ good,”_ Viktor sighs. “Please, more.”

“Mm, patience, my love. You look so beautiful just like this.”

“I want…” Viktor swallows. “I want to see.”

That fills Yuuri with an inexplicable surge of pride. He fixes a couple of the loops to make the binder symmetrical; it looks almost like the one in the video he’d learned from and he wants Viktor to see it, too.

“Stand up, then.”

Viktor regularly performs physics-defying feats of athleticism immediately after spinning thirty times on one blade. Still, he almost loses his balance when he tries to get to his feet with his arms bound straight behind his back. Yuuri catches him around the waist, then leads him toward the full-length mirror with a finger looped through the front of the harness near his collarbone. 

“Just look at yourself,” Yuuri cooes, turning Viktor’s back to the mirror so that he has to crane his neck to see his bound arms. Yuuri can’t resist pressing close to Viktor, flushed skin on flushed skin, Viktor hard against Yuuri’s straining pants. Yuuri keeps his hands on Viktor’s hips, possessing him with his touch just as he does with rope.

Viktor’s breath hitches the second he sees himself in the mirror. Yuuri bites a kiss at the base of Viktor’s neck, drawing out a whine.

“Do you like what you see?”

Viktor, even with his shoulders wrenched almost painfully back and his neck craned around to see, still manages to melt forward into Yuuri’s arms. In the reflection Yuuri can see his dazed eyes blown wide. “I look…”

Yuuri waits. “Yes?”

“Yours. I look like _ yours.” _

There’s something buzzing in Yuuri’s veins, making his muscles twitch and his skin burn hot. He runs his hands up Viktor’s sides and feels the bound man shiver and tremble against him, his body entirely commanded by Yuuri’s touch.

Yuuri hooks a finger under Viktor’s harness once again and walks backwards, leading him toward the bed. He spreads a towel over the edge of the comforter.

“Lay down on your stomach, legs off the bed.” 

“Yes, Yuuri,” Viktor breathes. He likes this, being vocal, even when it sounds like Yuuri’s already stolen most of the air from his lungs.

Their bed is far enough off the ground that Viktor’s legs hang off the side somewhat awkwardly with his torso pressed against the mattress, his ass on full display. 

“Good, Vitya. Good.”

With the two remaining lengths of rope Yuuri finishes his masterpiece, wrapping ties around each of Viktor’s ankles individually. Then he stands, lifting Viktor’s left leg with him and, as if this were a part of their morning stretches, pulls Viktor’s leg straight out to the side until it comes flush with the edge of the bed. 

_ “Oh…” _ Viktor exhales as Yuuri secures the rope at his ankle to the bedpost. Then Yuuri lifts the other leg, straightens it, and fights the resistance as he pushes Viktor closer and closer to a perfect side split. Viktor can sink into a front split with absolutely no problem—even at twenty-eight, his Biellmann spins are lovely—but side splits are the bane of his daily stretch routine. He groans into the mattress as Yuuri ties off the rope, the tension pulling the black hemp taut. 

“Can you feel your arms still?”

“Mm, yes...”

Yuuri has made Viktor into a work of art, trembling and tied and spread in a perfect picture of surrender. He runs his fingers over Viktor’s quivering legs, stopping just short of where Viktor surely wants his hands to be—his cock that hangs over the edge of the bed, red and full and weeping. Viktor bucks his hips, looking for friction, and groans when it sends a painful stretch through his thighs. Most of Viktor’s face is hidden in the mattress, but Yuuri can still see the corner of one half-lidded eye and the desperate part of his mouth as he struggles for words, begging as if every second without Yuuri’s hands on his body is torture. 

Yuuri takes his time fishing the lube out of the nightstand, then dangles it in front of Viktor’s face.

“Is this what you want?”

Nothing that comes out of Viktor’s mouth is a real word in any of the languages he knows. It makes Yuuri smile.

“Good,” he says, then draws back to finally unbuckle and drop his pants and underwear, discarding them on the floor beside him. 

If the lube feels like ice against his fingers then he can only imagine how it feels for Viktor as he works it in, forcing his fiancé into a different but equally familiar kind of stretch. Yuuri often takes his time with this, driving Viktor to the brink as he stretches him so sweetly, but not tonight. He knows Viktor wants to feel it, so he slips in a second finger almost as soon as he sinks in with the first. He works Viktor open ruthlessly, urged on by Viktor’s sharp gasps of encouragement. 

“Yuuri,” Viktor pants, squeezing like a vice around Yuuri’s fingers. “Yuuri, _ tighter.” _

Yuuri pulls out two fingers and sinks back with three. “You’re already quite tight, darling.”

“No, no,” Viktor hisses, his red hands grasping uselessly at thin air. “No, _ tighter, _ the…”

“Oh,” Yuuri breathes, “of course.” He pulls his hand back and, slowly, almost teasingly, lines himself up with Viktor, stretching him to the limit as he starts to push in but not giving Viktor any more than that. Ignoring Viktor’s protests, he wipes his fingers on Viktor’s thigh to make sure he doesn’t get the rope dirty, then brings his freed hands up to the place where he’d tied off the binding for Viktor’s arms. He frees the final knot and wraps the rope around one hand, pressing down on the base of Viktor’s neck with the other.

He slowly pushes another inch into Viktor, and asks, “Ready?”

“Yes, yes, please pl—_ease!” _

Yuuri flicks his hips to bury the rest of himself deep inside of Viktor just as he yanks the rope to tighten the bindings so ruthlessly that Viktor’s elbows collide behind his back. The sound Viktor makes is almost a scream, but it’s throaty, desperate, his vocal cords quivering like the rest of his body. When he runs out of air he pants into the bed, forehead pressed deep into the mattress as he no doubt tries to process, to reconcile, the pain and pleasure coursing through his body. 

Yuuri does not ask if Viktor is alright, but he does pause, running his hands up and down Viktor’s sides saying, “I’m here, Vitya, I’m here.”

“Move,” Viktor grinds out, flicking his hips even though it surely sends a twinge of discomfort through his already-stretched legs.

It’s utterly mind-blowing, having Viktor like this, the ecstasy of being _ inside _of him nearly overshadowed by the delicate trembling of Viktor’s body bound in rope and wrapped in Yuuri’s arms. Viktor takes Yuuri in and Yuuri gathers Viktor up, cradling him close to his chest even as he fucks him so thoroughly that he can barely keep his eyes open. The rope binding Viktor’s arms burns as it slides against Yuuri’s torso, adding a delicious edge to the slick pleasure rippling through his body. 

When Yuuri reaches down between Viktor’s legs, the bound man cries out like he’s never been touched there in his _ life_—and it’s that, of all things, that pushes Yuuri over the edge.

They come together, Yuuri’s mouth hot on Viktor’s nape and Viktor pliant and quivering beneath him. Pleasure seizes him longer and harder than even their first time together. As the aftershocks ripple through his body, he takes in the sight of Viktor still spread before him, bound in knots tied by Yuuri’s hands with peace washed over his bleary eyes, and he knows that Viktor has given him something unimaginably precious. 

“That was…”

Yuuri smiles sheepishly as he unties the ropes from Viktor’s arms and lightly massages the red skin beneath. “Good, I hope?”

“More than I ever could have imagined.” As Yuuri pulls away the last of the rope, Viktor turns and captures his mouth in a sweet, melting kiss. 

Yuuri brushes a sweaty lock of hair from Viktor’s face and smiles against his lips. “For me, too.”

…

That night they sleep curled around each other, Viktor’s front pressed up to Yuuri’s back from head to toe. Heavy warmth spreads like a blanket over the places where Viktor touches him, from their entwined ankles to the arm slung over Yuuri’s waist and the hand splayed across his stomach. Viktor sighs in contentment, his breath hot against Yuuri’s ear and his hair tickling the nape of Yuuri’s neck.

Held fast in his lover’s arms, Yuuri can’t help but imagine Viktor’s touch as the sweet friction of rope, surrounding and possessing him. What might it feel like to let Viktor do to him what Yuuri had done tonight—to be bound and displayed, vulnerable and weeping with need? 

What might it feel like, to hand himself over to Viktor’s care and sink so far into his devotion that all propriety and self-consciousness and tightly-held _ control _ vacates his mind entirely? 

But then he pictures standing over a bed, looking down at a body lying bound and helpless just as Viktor was—except it’s not Viktor, it’s _ him, _ with dark hair and eyes screwed shut and stretch marks on his hips. He looks down at his red face, his horribly gaping hole, and his pathetically dripping cock and his stomach turns so violently that he jerks in Viktor’s arms.

“Mm?”

“I’m alright, go back to sleep.”

“Mm, ‘night.”

“Goodnight, Vitya.”

He banishes the thought from his mind.

…

The thought doesn’t stay gone for long. They play like this somewhat regularly now, the tone of their scenes varying wildly between wordless lust, laughing experimentation, and breathless stress relief. Every time, despite himself, that inexplicable desire invades his mind, making his chest tighten and skin prickle. 

“Would you ever want to try it?” Viktor asks one day a few months later as they’re basking in the afterglow, because _ of course _ he does.

“What do you mean?” Yuuri asks, even though he already knows the answer.

“Being tied up. _ Me _ tying you up.”

Yuuri should have expected this, really. This would hardly be the first time Viktor has dominated him, and they are so flexible in every other aspect of their sex life that it’s almost strange they haven’t tried switching yet. Still, Yuuri’s stomach has never done anxious somersaults at the prospect before.

“You wouldn’t just be able to jump into it,” Yuuri says. “You’d need to learn—”

“I have.” There’s a tentative but eager smile on Viktor’s lips. “I’ve been learning with those online tutorials ever since you did it for me, that first time. I just… it was so good, you made me feel so good, and I wanted to be able to give you that. If you wanted.”

“I’m, ah. Not sure I’m cut out for that,” Yuuri explains, lamely. Viktor’s smile falls, but he covers quickly with that carefully-neutral expression that always makes Yuuri feel like the scum of the earth.

“You don’t want to,” Viktor interprets. “That’s alright, Yuuri—”

“No,” Yuuri interjects. “No, I…” He’s not quite sure why he’s disagreeing, but he doesn’t want to agree either, and he pulls his knees to his chest as if curling up like a pill bug will make the conflict raging in his mind go away. Eventually he says, “I don’t know what I want.”

Viktor cocks his head to the side. “You’re nervous,” he observes. Yuuri shrugs.

“Maybe. I don’t know. It’s probably more trouble than it’s worth—”

“No.” Viktor seizes his hand. “I want to help you figure this out, if you’ll be patient with me.”

Yuuri sighs and uncurls himself, opening himself to Viktor and leaning up against his side. “I just can’t picture myself like that,” he admits. “I’m not sure I want to be _ seen _ like that.”

“By me? Is this about your weight? It’s mid-season, you’re in perfect shape, and even if you weren’t—”

“No, no, it—it feels, I don’t know… deeper than that. If that makes any sense.”

“It’s just me,” Viktor whispers, trailing his nails up Yuuri’s forearm and making him shiver. “You never have to be ashamed around me.”

“I know. And I trust you, with everything,” Yuuri replies, echoing what Viktor told him all those months ago when this whole thing started. “But it’s like—like when you told me to skate to _ Eros _ last year. I thought, that couldn’t possibly be me, I’m a twenty-three-year-old virgin who called pork cutlet bowls his _ eros. _ Still, I did it, and I _ loved _ it, but a part of me always felt like a fraud, and…”

“Yuuri, your sexuality isn’t a fraud. You’re the most genuinely alluring person I’ve ever met.”

Yuuri smirks. “You’re biased.”

“Maybe, but it’s true.”

“I pole-danced the first time we met!”

“Exactly.”

“That’s not the same! I was Drunk-Yuuri the first time we met, and Performer-Yuuri when I did _ Eros _, but this would be… me. Just me.”

“Aren’t you always _ just you _ when we’re together?”

“That’s different,” Yuuri whispers. “I’m, I’m not… on display.”

Viktor quirks an eyebrow. “Display?”

“You know, laying there, all tied up and helpless and… visible.”

“Yuuri,” Viktor replies, sounding breathless. He threads his fingers between Yuuri’s. “It’s just me. It’s just us. You’re always visible to me, and I _ love _ seeing you, every part of you, always.”

Yuuri swallows. “Ah...”

“You make my head spin, Yuuri. You always have. One moment you’re all sweet and angelic and the next you’re literally the embodiment of _ eros. _ It’s dizzying, and I love it.” 

Yuuri’s face turns embarrassingly red. “Oh.”

“You should never feel ashamed, definitely not in front of me! I’ve loved every side of you you’ve ever let me see and, if you want to, I’d…” Viktor swallows. “I’d be honored, if you trusted me with this, too.”

“I want to,” Yuuri breathes, turning to bury his face in Viktor’s neck. “I want to, and of course I trust you. I think it’s just myself I’m unsure about, but I can… work through that, I think. If you’re patient with me,” he adds with a tiny smile.

“We’d go slowly, and plan it out in advance, and I’d be very careful. I’d stop the second it became too much.”

“I know you would,” Yuuri promises.

“Ah. Good.”

“Soon, then,” Yuuri decides. “We will try it soon.”

Viktor presses a warm kiss to the top of Yuuri’s head. “Whenever you want, Yuuri. Whatever you want.”

…

Yuuri comes to him a week later, rope in hand. He gives the bundle to his stunned fiancé who has just finished loading the dishwasher, and says, “Please?”

The smile on Viktor’s face is so heartshaped and sweet that Yuuri has no choice but to kiss it. 

They make it to the bedroom, shut the door on a pouting Makkachin, and dim the lights. Yuuri starts to take off his shirt but Viktor takes his hand and says, “Let me.”

Yuuri’s heart pounds against his ribcage as Viktor strips away his clothes and guides him to sit down on the side of the bed. Their apartment is chilly in the wintertime, but Viktor runs his hands up Yuuri’s arms to soothe away the goosebumps. 

“_ Takate kote, _ like we talked about?”

Viktor’s Japanese accent is adorable. Yuuri almost asks “what?” just so he’ll repeat it. He smiles.

“Yes.”

“Alright. The shears are right here. You’ll tell me if you get uncomfortable, right?”

“I will. I promise.”

Yuuri watches Viktor’s movements with a critical eye as he unravels the rope and finds its center point. When Viktor asks Yuuri to sit slightly sideways on the bed and cross his arms at the small of his back, Yuuri obeys almost clinically. As Viktor wraps the rope around Yuuri’s wrists, Yuuri appraises each movement as if he were the one tying the knots. 

Fingers ghost over Yuuri’s forearm, tracing a path up past his elbow to his shoulder. “_ Yuu- _ri,” Viktor whispers, leaning so close to Yuuri’s ear that he can feel his breath, “You’re thinking too much.”

Yuuri turns his head and comes face-to-face with his fiancé. “I’m sorry, I don’t....”

“Don’t apologize,” Viktor replies, tilting Yuuri’s head upward with a single finger crooked under his chin. “Just close your eyes and let me take care of you.”

A trill of desire sings beneath his skin. There’s something about Viktor’s rumbling voice, saying those words… Yuuri’s eyes flutter shut and he lets himself melt under Viktor’s gaze, relaxing muscles he hadn’t even realized he was holding tight. 

Viktor makes the first wrap around Yuuri’s chest and upper arms, pulling his arms tighter into his body and his wrists little higher at the small of his back, and suddenly Yuuri understands that needy noise that Viktor always makes when Yuuri pulls to secure a tie. For Yuuri, it comes out as a little hitch in his breathing. He instantly sinks into the bindings. 

“Alright?” Viktor asks, his thumb rubbing circles against Yuuri’s upper arm. Yuuri shudders.

_ “Yes.” _

Yuuri had feared, initially, that it would be impossible to disconnect from the mechanical process of the tie itself, but after only a few steps Yuuri has lost track of Viktor’s movements entirely. All he knows, all he _ feels, _ are Viktor’s fleeting, unpredictable touches and the rope as it moves with his skin—that delicious friction that he knows so well as a dominant but has never experienced like this before. 

It reminds Yuuri of skating a program that he loves, when the judges and audience and scoreboard fall away to leave him alone on the ice with his movements. Except here, he doesn’t have to move at all. He doesn’t have to do anything—_ can’t _ do anything—but close his eyes and trust. 

Every now and then, Viktor leans in and wraps his arms around Yuuri to pass the rope from one hand to the other on the far side of his body, and Yuuri forgets to breathe. Then, quickly, the warmth of Viktor’s arms pulls away and he’s left with the snug embrace of rope, holding him steady and making his body thrum with heat. 

It’s like those evenings when they curl up in front of the TV and Viktor massages his bandaged feet, or the nights when they shower together and Viktor lathers shampoo into Yuuri’s hair, or the mornings when Viktor kneels down and tightly laces Yuuri’s skates. It feels like devotion—like being taken care of. And isn’t that all Yuuri has ever truly asked of him?

Even naked with his arms bound helplessly behind his back, Yuuri’s fear melts away. He may not be able to imagine himself as a sexual being, but Viktor can_ . _ There is no part of himself that Yuuri doesn’t want Viktor to see, to touch, to _ ravish. _

A warm palm cups Yuuri’s cheek and he opens his eyes to find Viktor standing in front of him with his eyes burning. Yuuri looks down, slowly, and sees black rope wrapped over and over around his arms and chest, sees his cock red and straining upwards, and goes lightheaded with need_ . _

“Vitya…”

Viktor leans down, placing his hands at the curves of Yuuri’s hips. “Would you like to see?”

“Please, yes,” Yuuri breathes, his accent strangely pronounced as he struggles to make his mouth form words.

Viktor helps him stand and steadies him when he sways, guiding him to the mirror with an arm around his waist. And then suddenly, there he is. Katsuki Yuuri, Japan’s ace, dime-a-dozen skater with his hair disheveled and face flushed red all the way down to his chest, naked and bound and—

“Beautiful,” Yuuri whispers. He can’t help himself.

Viktor beams with pride, but in the reflection Yuuri catches the traces of nervousness right before they disappear. “Not bad for the first try, hm?” He turns Yuuri’s back to the mirror so he can crane his neck to see the pattern of ropes that hold his arms folded against his lower back, just as perfectly symmetrical as every tutorial video Yuuri has ever watched. He tugs at the ropes securing his wrists, but they hold him fast.

Yuuri turns back to Viktor, sinking forward into his chest and burying his face in the side of Viktor’s neck. “You’re wonderful,” he mumbles, and he feels a laugh rumble through Viktor’s chest.

“So are you,” Viktor replies. “Do you want me to undo it now?”

“No,” Yuuri insists, pulling back to smile up at Viktor. “I want you to take me to bed.”

Viktor beams, his hands wandering all over Yuuri’s bound torso in appreciation. “You’re very demanding for a man whose hands are quite literally tied behind his back.”

“If you wanted to tie my legs too, I wouldn’t be opposed.”

Viktor’s eyes shine. “Really?”

Yuuri nods. “I thought I would feel exposed, but I don’t. I just feel… taken care of.”

Viktor leans down and presses a kiss to Yuuri’s lips, taking the control that Yuuri offers him once more. Viktor’s ties and Viktor’s arms hold Yuuri tightly as he sinks into the moment, forgetting everything but the desire thrumming deep within him. 

“Please, Vitya,” Yuuri breathes. Viktor traces a finger down Yuuri’s jaw, over his kissed-red lips, and hooks it under his chin. He smiles sweetly, delight shining blue in his eyes.

“Anything for you, darling.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading!! I hope you enjoyed, and I would love to know what you thought <3


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